


Reversion

by Asidian



Category: Dororo (Anime 2019)
Genre: Blood, Brothers, Captivity, Family, Family Issues, Gen, Loss of Limbs, Moral Dilemmas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: "The needs of the domain must outweigh the needs of one," says Tahomaru. "It does not matter who that one is, or what claim he has to vengeance."Hyakkimaru tips his head up, so that those sightless, dark eyes seem to pierce directly to Tahomaru's soul."Vengeance," says Hyakkimaru, as though he is tasting the word. It breaks strangely, in the center, like it is unfamiliar on his tongue. "What is… vengeance?"
Relationships: Hyakkimaru & Tahomaru (Dororo)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in the fandom. Please excuse me for being shaky on the character voices; I'm still getting the hang of them.
> 
> I'm thinking this will be... maybe three chapters? We'll see how it goes.

After the first day, they keep Tahomaru's brother bound to a wooden pillar, like a dog tied up to await its master.

Tahomaru understands why. In those first chaotic hours, his brother killed three men and stabbed Hyogo through the shoulder before they could determine how to remove the prostheses from the stumps of his arms.

He has not offered them much resistance since then.

There is no way that he can.

Feet bound together, thick rope wrapped liberally around his chest and the pillar behind him, he cannot rise from his position unless he is unbound – unless he is escorted.

He has been neutralized, at last. The demon who put himself above all the people of this land can no longer hurt those in Tahomaru's charge.

It is a victory, of course. They have won.

Tahomaru's father says it is so. He claims to have laid out great plans – plans that will pave the way back to the peace and prosperity the kingdom once knew.

Tahomaru should feel relief.

But somehow, standing in the open sliding screen of the doorway and looking in at his brother, the warm rush of victory does not come.

"Young master," says Mutsu. "You should not come to this place. The prisoner is dangerous."

"He is bound," says Tahomaru. "And he has no arms."

Mutsu's eyes glance toward the prisoner. "Even so," she says.

"I wish to speak with him," says Tahomaru, who did not until this moment know that he wished to speak with his brother at all. But even as the words come, he feels that they are true.

"No good will come of this," says Mutsu, softly. "Your lord father –"

"— has his prisoner, as requested," says Tahomaru. "What harm can come of a few moments of conversation?"

Mutsu inclines her head. At length, she steps aside. "As you say."

The guards have been monitoring the conversation; they draw up, at attention, as he enters, and they slip out into the corridor, to give him space. The sliding door eases shut behind them.

Tahomaru approaches his brother, footsteps soft on the tatami mat covering the floor.

Hyakkimaru does not glance up. That pale, impassive face gives no indication that he has heard. Those dark, sightless eyes do not turn Tahomaru's way.

"Brother," says Tahomaru, after a few moments of silence.

There is no reply.

"I wished to speak with you, " says Tahomaru.

Hyakkimaru tips his chin up, just slightly – an indication, perhaps, that he is listening.

But Tahomaru only stands there for a moment, watching him, wondering what it is he means to say. He licks at his lips – thinks of their father, face stern and unyielding. Thinks of their mother, pale cheeks streaked with tears. Thinks of a child in a village, drawn and fragile with hunger, and finally finds the courage to make his tongue form words.

"It did not have to come to this," says Tahomaru. "You see that, don't you? If you had only stood down, you would not be here now."

Hyakkimaru says nothing.

"The needs of the domain must outweigh the needs of one," says Tahomaru. "It does not matter who that one is, or what claim he has to vengeance."

Hyakkimaru tips his head up, so that those sightless, dark eyes seem to pierce directly to Tahomaru's soul.

"Vengeance," says Hyakkimaru, as though he is tasting the word. It breaks strangely, in the center, like it is unfamiliar on his tongue. "What is… vengeance?"

"Revenge," says Tahomaru. "Retribution." He considers. "Inflicting wrongs on another who has wronged you, to settle the score."

Hyakkimaru considers this for a moment, in silence. Then he says, "I do not want… vengeance."

Tahomaru makes a sound that is too bitter around the edges to be a laugh. "A great many people lie dead because of you, brother. And yet you make that claim?"

"It is true." He says it so simply. That pale face is blank, impossible to read.

Tahomaru does not mean to ask, but the words slip from him before he can stop them. "Then what do you want?"

Hyakkimaru is looking at him; Tahomaru feels certain of it. Those glass eyes regard him with all the weight of the world, as though they can see straight to his soul.

"My arms," says Hyakkimaru. "My eyes."

"You can't have them, brother," says Tahomaru, more urgently this time. "Don't you see? Your body has bought peace for the domain. The choice should have been yours, and it was not. And that is cruel. But to undo this arrangement now, when so many people rely on your sacrifice – that is cruel, too."

That beautiful face, so like their mother's, loses its doll-like stillness at last. The skin between the brows draws together. "They are mine."

"They are yours," Tahomaru agrees. "But you are not the only one who needs them."

Hyakkimaru is silent for a long couple of moments. Tahomaru sighs, and glances away.

He is not sure why he came. He is not sure where he thought this conversation might go.

"But they are mine," says Hyakkimaru again, very softly.

When Tahomaru looks back at his brother's face, he does not see the blood-stained creature that moves like the wind and tears through demons like rice paper. 

He sees a boy, not much older than himself, who is missing his arms and his eyes. Who was missing much more until not long ago.

Not for the first time, he imagines a child with nothing: no arms or legs, no eyes or ears, no nose or skin. A child who cannot feel, who cannot move, who cannot ask for what he needs. What would it be like, to live a life cloaked in darkness and silence? To live surrounded by others, but held apart by an impenetrable wall?

These are not questions Tahomaru can afford to ask himself. He is the lord's son, and his duty is to his people.

"You can't have them," says Tahomaru again, sharper than he intends. "There are more important things than you."

He turns away from his brother, abruptly, and toward the door.

Hyakkimaru does not reply. Those flat, glass eyes seem to stare at a fixed point on the wall in front of him, even when the screen door slides open and closed again, and the guards return to take Tahomaru's place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe four chapters, on further consideration. :|a
> 
> Thank you guys for the lovely comments, by the way. I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far. <333

"They are reluctant, of course," says Tahomaru's father. "But that is to be expected."

Tahomaru starts; his bow jerks up at the last moment, and the arrow, instead of flying in a straight line, embeds itself a hand's width above the center of the target.

Tahomaru lowers the bow. "Who is?"

His father's face is set in a frown, all hard lines and deep crags that make him seem as though he is carved from granite. Tahomaru suspects, from that expression, that he has been in talks with the Asakura clan again. He suspects that another overture toward peace has been turned aside.

He suspects that it will be a late night making battle plans and poring over maps by the light of an oil lamp, long after the moon has risen and set.

But his father says, "The demons, of course."

Tahomaru lowers his bow. Away down the field, a retainer uses the break in practice to rush toward the target, retrieving the spent projectiles.

"They are dead," says Tahomaru. "All but the four of them."

"Yes," says Tahomaru's father. "What's done cannot be undone. And yet there is a way forward. This plan of mine will carry us into a new tomorrow, and we will emerge again, stronger than before."

Tahomaru wants to smile, as he might once have. He wants to believe that his father's plan will be the answer to their prayers – that the Goddess of Mercy will reach down her gentle hand and spread a soothing balm across their blighted land.

But he has learned all too well that the hand shielding their domain has nothing to do with the goddess. And the father whose plans he used to follow without a moment's hesitation – well. Tahomaru has learned something of him, as well.

"You speak of your plan," says Tahomaru. "And still I do not know what it entails. Tell me, father – what way forward have you found for us?"

"You will see," says Tahomaru's father. "It cannot be long now."

Try as Tahomaru will, he does not say more than that.

But it will not leave Tahomaru's thoughts, all the day long. While he trains in the courtyard, and while he performs his duties, and while he visits Hyogo, who is being kept for observation until his shoulder begins to mend, the thoughts chase each other in his head, around and around.

It is not until after sunset that he finds he has the time for his feet to wander as much as his mind, and wander they do. He leaves Mutsu in the company of her brother, and he walks the lengths of the palace's corridors. He rests briefly in his room, but finds that he can't stay still; the place where his eye once was still burns, and the pain makes him restless.

He walks, and he walks, and when he finally stops walking, he finds that his feet have led him to a destination, after all.

The guards outside the room where his brother is kept stand at attention as he approaches, and the words that Tahomaru finds on his lips are: "I wish to see my brother."

"Yes, young master," says the nearest guard.

Then the door is pulled wide, and he steps into the room.

It is dark inside, the only light that of the moon, slanting in through the lattice frame of the windows. He brother is a pale smear in the darkness, sitting up against the pillar. His head is tipped forward onto his chest; his hair has fallen in his eyes.

Tahomaru thinks he is asleep, until he lifts his head just slightly.

"Hello, brother," says Tahomaru. He crosses the space between them – comes to a stop next to Hyakkimaru's bound legs.

He stands like that for a long moment, and then another. He does not know what to say.

"Why," says Hyakkimaru, at last.

"Why?" Tahomaru echoes.

Hyakkimau's eyes are dark in the moonlight. In this dim lighting, it is easy to believe that they can see him – that they are scrutinizing him for some hidden motive.

"Here," says Hyakkimaru. He pauses, as though he senses that this alone is not enough to communicate what he wants to say. Then slowly, feeling out the words: "Why are you… here?"

It is an excellent question. Tahomaru would like to know the answer to it, himself.

He cannot say to his brother, this demon, that his eye aches, and that his thoughts will not stop, and that the missing details of his father's plan unsettle him.

"I don't know," says Tahomaru, at last.

Hyakkimaru is silent. There is a certain way that he tips his head, like a wild bird listening, and he does it now. When he speaks again, it is in that same odd, halting tone. "Dororo," he says.

For a moment, Tahomaru does not know what he means. Perhaps his brother can sense this, too, for he forces out more words: "Where is Dororo?"

Tahomaru regards his brother closely. In the darkened room, it is impossible to see minute changes in expression, though perhaps there are none to see. His face is smooth and pale, unreadable.

"Your traveling companion," says Tahomaru. "The child?"

Hyakkimaru hesitates, and then nods. "Small," he agrees. "Bright."

Bright. It is an odd word, for one who is blind. Tahomaru wonders again how he navigates the world – what precisely it means, to be able to see a human soul.

"We left him behind," says Tahomaru. "He was not harmed."

There was tension layered thick across Hyakkimaru's shoulders; Tahomaru does not realize it, until he relaxes somewhat, and it eases.

"We are not monsters," says Tahomaru, with more than a touch of reproach. "We do not cause suffering for no reason. We do not cut down innocent men for daring to protect their domain."

"You," says Hyakkimaru, the words slow and deliberate, "fought _me_."

Somehow, Tahomaru understands what he means.

The wooden hands of this demon have killed men, but he did not set out to cut them down. All he has done – all he has ever expressed interest in doing – is claiming back what was once his own.

You fought me.

It feels like an accusation. The defensive flare inside of Tahomaru twists, uneasy – alarmingly like guilt. "You left us no choice," he says. "We meant only to –"

He does not say what they had meant to do.

Before he can finish the sentence, Hyakkimaru begins to scream.

It is guttural and wild, as though torn from some place deep within him. His head falls back; even in the dim lighting of the room, Tahomaru can see that his eyes are wide with shock, his face contorted with pain.

"Brother?" says Tahomaru.

Hyakkimaru screams, and screams, and screams.

Tahomaru only thinks to look down when he feels it against his knee, warm and wet and spreading. The blood has seeped across the tatami, soaking the mat. In the place where his brother's right leg was just moments before, there is nothing.

Tahomaru breathes a curse and lurches to his feet.

"Guards," he calls, and instantly the door flies open, as though they were but waiting on his words.

"Quickly," he says. "Quickly, fetch assistance. The prisoner is injured."

The prisoner is not screaming any longer, at least, though the sound he's making now is worse. It is a low, animal sort of whine, from somewhere in the back of his throat.

One of the guards is staring past Tahomaru, speechless. The other has gone a shocking shade of pale.

"Now!" says Tahomaru. "Go!"

They take off down the hallway, footsteps pounding away toward someone who can help.

Tahomaru stands, frozen, watching as his brother's bound form shakes with pain. His feet itch to move, to run for someone more skilled at the healing arts than he, but the guards have gone already, and it seems cruel to leave his brother unattended.

He can attempt to staunch the blood flow, at least. He doesn't have much training in this, but Mutsu saw to it that he had at least some rudimentary skills, to prepare for the day when he might lead men onto the battlefield.

"Brother," says Tahomaru, when he kneels beside Hyakkimaru again. "I'm going to see to your wound."

Hyakkimaru makes a sound, something like a whimper.

"The guards have gone for help," says Tahomaru. "They'll be back soon."

His hands shake, a little, as he reaches for the place where his brother's leg once was. The blood gleams black in the moonlight.

It is not until he has begun a clumsy bandage with the cloth from his own sleeve that he understands. It starts in low, like a wave, and then it rises up, and up, and up, like icy water that will surely drown him.

The demons are reluctant, he thinks. There is a way forward, he thinks.

This plan of his father's will carry them forward into a new tomorrow.

But here and now, his brother is shaking beneath his fingers, and the blood has stained his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one; I've been a bit busy. I'm hoping to finish this up with one more chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and left such kind comments. <3
> 
> Random aside: okayu today is usually eaten with a spoon, but Dororo is set before the introduction of spoons to Japan, so after waffling a bit I went with how miso soup and the like is usually eaten. Things you never thought you would look up for fanfiction, part 75.

At last, the bleeding stops.

When the man tending Tahomaru's brother finishes and steps away, the guards come forward with a new length of rope, to reaffix him to the pillar.

"He has no leg," Tahomaru snaps, and they do not tie him up again, after all.

They bring bedding, instead, at Tahomaru's direction – spread it out near the pillar, away from the place where the blood has stained the tatami mats. They lay Hyakkimaru down, pale as rice paper against the futon, with great dark circles beneath his eyes.

He looks very young, when he is tucked up under the blankets. Tahomaru did not realize before how thin his brother is, but he notices it now – the slight frame, and the sharpness of the jaw, and the way his features make him appear almost fragile.

Hyakkimaru lies still and silent; his eyes are half-lidded, but Tahomaru suspects he is not conscious any longer. He has not stirred in some time. Only the soft rise and fall of his chest indicates that he still lives.

"Stand watch," Tahomaru tells the guards. "Inform me immediately if his condition changes." Then he sweeps from the room, out into the night, where the moon has long since set.

* * *

Tahomaru finds his father in the Hall of Hell.

It is not the first place he searches; by the time he crests the ancient steps to find the door still ajar, the soft light of an oil lamp flickering within, the sky is grey with the coming morning.

"Father?" says Tahomaru.

Tahomaru's father has his head lifted, toward the statues on the wall, as though in contemplation. He does not look Tahomaru's way.

Tahomaru steps into the room, feels the weight of the place upon his skin. It feels ancient here, in a way the temples that dot the mountain do not; the statues stare out with sightless stone eyes, some sliced neatly down the center.

There is a new one now, Tahomaru sees. It has six wide eyes and a mouth lined with teeth. The claws on its hands are spread wide, as though beckoning.

"Father?" says Tahomaru again.

Tahomaru's father looks toward him at last. "Is it morning?" he says. "So soon?"

"Not yet," says Tahomaru. "Though it is not far."

His father opens his mouth as though to speak again, and suddenly Tahomaru feels that he can't bear it – cannot abide the thought of making idle conversation, while his brother's blood is still drying in the fibers of the tatami.

"My brother's leg is gone," says Tahomaru, all in a rush, to forestall whatever he means to say. "It was taken from him."

Tahomaru's father glances up, sharply. "Only the leg?"

The sickening sense of dread in Tahomaru's stomach solidifies into something certain. "Did you mean there to be more?"

"It is no matter," says Tahomaru's father. "When they see that we have this menace leashed and helpless, more will accept my offer. There is nothing to fear from him, any longer."

Tahomaru's mouth is very dry. It feels as though the whole room is spinning about him. The faces of the statues seem alive in the flickering shadows; the open mouths make them look like they are laughing.

"Father," says Tahomaru. The word is choked, a little unsteady. "He is your son."

"He is a demon," says Tahomaru's father. "And he means to be the end of this domain. We have spoken of this before; you challenged him, on the field of battle. Do you mean to tell me now that you will abandon those we're meant to protect?"

Tahomaru does not. He cannot.

He thinks again of a village rife with famine – of a child's too-thin limbs. He thinks of the Asakura clan, poised at their borders, and the suffering that will come if war tears their land in two.

He thinks of his brother, too pale against the futon – of his brother screaming, helpless and frantic and pained.

Tahomaru licks at his lips. He swallows, with effort.

At last, he manages: "We must keep them safe. It is our duty."

"Indeed," says Tahomaru's father, and turns away, to tilt his face up toward the demons. "And you would do well to remember it."

* * *

Tahomaru has been asleep perhaps three hours when a soft tapping comes at the screen door of his room – a guard, to tell him that his brother's condition has changed.

He dresses as fast as he's able, and his bare feet pad softly on the polished wood floors of the palace, carrying him there with all haste.

Someone has arrived before him.

Tahomaru's mother is kneeling on the floor beside the futon, her eyes on Hyakkimaru's face. Her fingers are stroking through his hair, soft and careful, and he has turned, slightly, as though to lean into the touch.

"Mother," says Tahomaru.

For an instant, he feels it: that old sense of being shut out, of being held apart from her by hands that are gentle but inexorable. With a pang, he realizes that he cannot recall their mother doing this for him since he was very small. When he lost his eye and was confined to the sick room, she did not visit him, still incapacitated by the recovery from her own wound.

And yet, his brother's expression makes it hard to be jealous, this time. There is a crease to his brow, as though he is weighing the pain against the comfort, and he cannot decide which affects him more.

She has not done this for Tahomaru since he was very small, but she has not done this for Hyakkimaru ever.

"Mother," Tahomaru begins again, with effort. "I did not expect to find you here."

"I did not expect to be here," says Tahomaru's mother. "But the servants talk, my son. Did you know that your brother lost his leg, in the night?"

Tahomaru moves from the doorway. He crosses the room, to kneel beside the futon, opposite his mother. "I knew," he says, simply.

His mother's eyes are very beautiful, and very sad. "Did you know they have not fed him?" Her fingers are pale and slender; they stroke through his brother's hair. "Not since he arrived."

The unease in Tahomaru's stomach twists again; he presses his lips together, and glances aside. "I did not."

It has been days. He should have known; he should have checked. A word from him might have staved off a fraction of his brother's suffering.

"They're bringing rice porridge," says his mother. "It will be here soon."

Tahomaru glances again to Hyakkimaru's face. He's tipped his head toward the hand that strokes through his hair, as though to encourage the gesture. Their mother looks as though she may cry.

"Brother," says Tahomaru, helplessly.

He does not get a chance to say more. The screen door slides open, and a servant appears, bearing a tray. There is rice porridge, but soup as well. Beneath the covers, Hyakkimaru shifts, face turning toward it like a flower toward the sun.

He must have heard the door open – or more likely, by the reaction, he has smelled the food.

"What," Hyakkimaru says. His voice is soft and hoarse – evidence of the screaming.

"Breakfast, brother."

Their mother's hands are busy, already. It seems cruel, somehow, to force her to choose between providing comfort and offering food. Tahomaru reaches out to take the tray from the servant.

Their mother is watching him, now, as she never has, all through his childhood. She is watching his hand on the bowl as though this simple act is more precious than her statue of the Goddess of Mercy.

Tahomaru lifts the bowl, careful. He places it at Hyakkimaru's lips.

"Are you hungry, brother?"

Tahomaru's brother does not answer. He begins to drink the porridge down, instead, letting their mother pet his hair, letting Tahomaru feed him as though he is a child.

More than anything, Tahomaru wishes he might promise that all will be well. 

The words stick somewhere behind the swell of warmth in his chest, and he cannot force them free. The leg is but the first part of many. In a day, or perhaps two, he will no longer be able to taste rice porridge. He will no longer feel their mother's fingers in his hair.

Tahomaru says nothing at all, instead. If he can offer only this moment, he will not ruin it with the promise of a future he cannot hope to provide.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to need another chapter after all, I think. Or maybe one more plus an epilogue.
> 
> Credit for the terrible things that happened in this chapter go to beanclam, who said something to the effect of, "It's a good thing he got his skin back before he got his nerves," while we were watching.
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who has read and enjoyed this so far. I hope you all are safe and well, and I'm wishing the very best to you and yours.

The other leg goes next.

It's three long days later, right after Tahomaru's begun to think that maybe his father was wrong. Maybe the demons don't want to risk taking the bargain, after all.

He knows what's happened the moment he steps into the room, though. It smells like blood, thick and metallic. It fills up his nose and the back of his throat.

Tahomaru stands in the doorway for a long, long moment. The world seems to spin around him, in slow, unsteady loops; he sets a hand to the door frame.

There's so much blood. There's so much blood, and three days isn't very long at all.

Standing there, watching as a servant struggles to staunch the bleeding, Tahomaru wonders, fleetingly, if his brother is going to die. If this boy, who cuts down demons with such poise and grace, is going to bleed out in a pile of bloody bedding in a back room of his father's palace.

"Young master," says a voice behind him, and Tahomaru turns to look. There's a woman standing in the hallway, arms full of bandages – and with a start, he realizes he's blocking the door. 

He steps into the room, to make space, and she hurries to Hyakkimaru's side.

Tahomaru just stands there, watching the servants work. 

It takes him a long time before he can make his feet carry him away from the door. He kneels beside the futon – stays until the bandages are in place, and the bedding has been changed. Until his brother is not screaming anymore, but panting, hair plastered to his brow with sweat.

"Bring him something for the pain," says Tahomaru, "and then leave us be."

The servants bring sake and then withdraw, and Tahomaru props his brother up, gentle, and holds the cup to his lips. "Drink," he says, and Hyakkimaru does.

Hyakkimaru chokes on the first sip – sputters, and rears his head back.

"Warm," he says, the word sloppy and indistinct from the bloodloss. "It… it burns."

Tahomaru presses the back of his hand to the side of the cup. It's been warmed, but it's nowhere near hot enough to burn. Unless, he thinks, with dawning comprehension, someone is not used to the sensation of sake settling, low in the chest, the comforting heat of a strong drink.

"It's sake," says Tahomaru, and tries very hard not to think about this being the first time his brother has had alcohol. "It will help with the pain."

Hyakkimaru hesitates, and then nods. He drinks again. When the first cup is empty, he accepts a second, and a third.

By the fourth, he is lax and pliant; his jaw is not so tight with the pain, and Tahomaru settles him back against the futon. Hyakkimaru's eyes, dark and sightless, track vaguely toward him.

"Why," says Hyakkimaru.

The word is soft around the edges from the lost blood and the alcohol, but it has the same inflection as the last time he asked.

Tahomaru doesn't know the answer, still.

"Go to sleep, brother," says Tahomaru, softly. "I'll stay for a while."

Their mother isn't here, this time, to stroke Hyakkimaru's hair. 

After a long moment's consideration, Tahomaru reaches out to do it instead.

* * *

Tahomaru is ready, he thinks, for whatever comes next. 

It can't be worse than the lost legs and the endless blood. It can't be worse than the way his brother looks lying against the bedding, still and pale and silent in the aftermath.

Tahomaru is wrong.

The next time the demons take something from his brother, he hears it from buildings away, a frantic wail that dips and raises but barely stops for breath. He has never heard a sound so awful. 

Tahomaru doesn't know what to expect until he stands in the doorway, looking in – until he sees the exposed muscle, glistening and wet.

There are three servants kneeling beside Hyakkimaru, half-panicked themselves. Mutsu stands above them, frowning. They are trying to make miracles with bandages, when there are no miracles to be had.

"Young master," says Mutsu, when she notices Tahomaru standing in the doorway. "This is beyond our expertise."

Tahomaru presses a hand to his mouth. This is beyond anyone's expertise. He can't bring himself to look at what remains of his brother's face.

When he is relatively certain he won't be ill, Tahomaru sucks in a steadying breath. "Stay here," he says. "Let no one else in. I'll be back."

"Young master," says Mutsu – but Tahomaru is already turning to go. 

He steps back out into the hall, feeling the smooth floorboards beneath his feet – feeling the air in his lungs. Feeling lucky to be alive, and whole, and free from pain. The farther he walks, the less he can hear the screaming, but it bounces around in his mind, like it's trapped there. Like he may never stop hearing it again.

The Hall of Hell is not any less foreboding in the daylight. 

Inside, the cool dark shuts out the reach of the sun, and the weight of it presses down on him, that sense of ancient power. In the air, he can smell the faint scent of incense, earthy and heady and cloying.

It does not take him long to find the new statue.

It's small and coiled, up above the doorway. Its neck is too long, and its face looks almost like a woman's face, delicate and lovely. It glows with a soft, malevolent light. When Tahomaru climbs up to take it down, the whole building rumbles, threatening.

He does not stop.

He lifts the statue in both arms – for all its small size, it is somehow very heavy – and takes it out into the sunlight. He carries it down the stairs, and into a tall stand of trees, where he used to play as a child.

Then he draws his sword.

He hacks at it with both arms, until the head is severed from the neck. The light suffusing the statue fades away to nothing; soon, all that lays upon the ground are two chunks of stone, lifeless and dead.

Tahomaru digs a shallow pit for the remnants of the statue; he shoves it inside and covers it over. He scrubs his hands with fistfuls of leaves to rid them of most of the dirt, and he sheathes his sword with hands that shake more than a little. 

He tries very hard not to think that somewhere in the domain, a river will have flooded, or lightning will have struck, or an earthquake will have rolled through an unprepared town.

He tries very hard not to think about anything at all. He only turns and walks back to the palace.

In the room where Hyakkimaru is being kept, there is silence. This he knows, long before he reaches the place.

But he does not know for certain – not until he slides open the door and peers inside.

There is his brother, lying in bedding that has been recently changed again. There is his brother, hair sleek and wet – washed, Tahomaru realizes distantly, because it must have been soaked through with blood.

There is his brother, not whole by any means – but with skin over his face, and his neck, and the thin slice of his chest that's visible through the gap in his robes.

Tahomaru is aware, distantly, of the way the servants exchange a long glance – of the deferential bow he receives. They gather up the soiled bedding in their arms.

Mutsu comes to stand beside him, eyes intelligent and appraising. Her gaze sweeps over Tahomaru – his expression, and his rumpled clothing. It lingers for a long while on his hands – where, he realizes, there is still dirt wedged beneath the fingernails.

"Welcome back, young master," she says. "As you can see, there has been a change in your brother's condition."

Tahomaru pauses – searches Mutsu's face. It is calm and collected, giving no hint of her intention away.

"So it seems," says Tahomaru, slowly.

"Since we seem to have misinterpreted his condition," says Mutsu, "there will be no need to inform your father of this change of events." She glances toward Hyakkimaru with the same steady, considering gaze. "Plainly, the demon has changed its mind."

Tahomaru's eyes flicker from Mutsu's face to his brother, and then back. "Yes," he says, slowly. "Yes, of course. No need to get my father's hopes up."

Mutsu inclines her head, in acknowledgement. 

"Very well, then. We'll leave you be."

Tahomaru can think of nothing to say. He stares, mute, as she slips from the chamber alongside the servants – finds himself standing motionless in the doorway.

He might have stayed there for the rest of the evening, thoughts a soft hush of white noise, had not his brother spoken.

"Here," says Hyakkimaru. His voice is soft, barely a whisper – destroyed by all the screaming.

It's not a full sentence, but Tahomaru knows what he means anyway. He makes himself step away from the door and shuffle along the tatami until he's standing beside Hyakkimaru. He drops to his knees, feeling distant and off balance.

"Hello, brother," he makes himself say, at last.

He reaches out – hesitates, remembering the sight of bare muscle, wet and exposed. Then he tamps down on the impulse to draw away, and he touches his brother's face, instead. The line of his cheek is smooth and warm beneath Tahomaru's palm.

Hyakkimaru takes a sharp breath in – trembles, and turns in toward the contact.

"Demons," Hyakkimaru says, voice soft and rasping. "Do not give up."

There is something guarded in the words. There is something careful. 

It is almost a question.

Tahomaru lets his hand drift up and back, until his fingers thread into his brother's hair. "Perhaps this one does," he says. "Perhaps just this once, you were lucky.


End file.
